


Scorpion Grasses

by orphan_account



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Justice League Dark (Comics)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gotham City - Freeform, Magic, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 13:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Gotham has forgotten Batman. Bruce seeks out Zatanna to reverse the spell that's latched onto him and the city. He quickly remembers why they've kept their distance after all of these years. Zatanna Zatara is a very difficult woman to forget, and one who keeps the past dangling far too close for Bruce's liking.





	Scorpion Grasses

Bruce Wayne has weathered many storms during his lifetime. It's different, then, when he gets sucked into the eye of a hurricane all of a sudden. It's hard to see the world as it is—it's all just a flurry of moving parts, too fast for him to decipher. 

He's been spit out of the cosmic treadmill into the depths of Hell—he didn't realize they were on the same street—and it took none other than John Constantine himself to pull him back out. But Constantine is as fickle as he is reluctant to be a hero and disappears as soon as Bruce is no longer being mauled by demons.

Back in Gotham, the memory of the Bat is no more. It's as if he's faded from the city entirely. He doesn't remember how long he's been gone, but the tether that kept his heart chained to the bleeding heart of Gotham has snapped.

There aren't many people or places that knew him for who he really was behind the mask. Wayne Manor is empty. He thinks he sees a flicker of Selina prowling through the streets one night, but she doesn't show her face. If Selina doesn't slink out of the shadows out of her own volition, then she isn't interested in anything he has to say. Or maybe she's forgotten, too.

This whole thing reeks of magic—the type that isn't afraid of capes and cowls and likes to play games with a bat out of his cave. So Bruce goes to the only place in Gotham where there's magic he knows he can trust: the theatre of the renowned magician, Zatanna Zatara. She also happens to be an old friend.

He watches her as she closes her set for the night from the back row of the hall. She's got more than a bag of tricks under her sleeve. As one of the most powerful sorcerers on the planet, it's a wonder that she's content living her life as a showgirl. He's not going to bring that up tonight, not after the friction their previous discussions have caused. What does he know, anyway, about the world she lives in? 

The theatre erupts in a round of applause as a group of elephants appear on stage out of the fog and the entire room smells and feels like a savannah. The heat would be unbearable if she hadn't laced it with some kind of enchantment to make everyone in the room feel like they were in the heart of their own adventures. 

As the spell wears off and Bruce wipes off the last drops of sweat from his forehead, he looks at the back of his hand and notices that its dry. Tricks of the mind. It makes him uneasy—reminds him of fear gas or the powerful spells of Ra's Al Ghul. He shouldn't compare Zatanna to them, but magic has always been unpredictable. Volatile. It can turn on people in an instant. She should know it better than anyone.

He walks into the backstage dressing room as Bruce Wayne: esteemed man of Gotham and more importantly, a friend. 

"Nice show," Bruce says. "Fun trick you did at the end, with the enchantment."

Zatanna's slipping out of her heels and shrugging off her tuxedo jacket. Her hat levitates and hangs itself on the coat rack, and her jacket promptly follows. She throws on some flats and takes off her earrings in front of her mirror, eyes darting to his reflection in front of her.

"You know, Bruce, one day you’re going to meet a real witch and they’re not going to take to your tone as well as I do. Besides, there are no enchantments in my show, only illusions. What you see is what you get, and what you get—” she turns around and smiles at him, “—is what I show you.” 

She rests her elbow over the edge of her chair as she looks over her shoulder. “What’ve you come to ask for tonight, Bruce? Another show to put on for one of your charity galas?”

“Have you ever heard of a vigilante named the Batman?”

Zatanna looks at him curiously. “No. Why? Is this person bothering you?” 

Bruce frowns. “Not the answer I was hoping for.”

“Am I supposed to know him?” Zatanna asks, getting out of her seat and crossing her arms in front of him.

“All of Gotham is supposed to know him.”

 

-

 

Zatanna’s lives eerily close to Arkham Asylum. It’s the same house she grew up in with her father when she was younger, the same place Bruce used to visit during after-school playdates when they were kids. Zatara would entertain them both with magic tricks and illusions and even then, Bruce was already wary about magic and what it can do. He’s never been able to shake off that feeling over the years. 

The Zatara house is filled with old family portraits and heirlooms, packed with the old souls of relatives or ancient curses, nonetheless. Books are strewn all over the house, on tables, sofas and even the windowsills. Zatanna’s room, on the other hand, is relatively bright and unfurnished. He then remembers a thing or two she said about illusions and things beneath the surface, though, and keeps a watchful eye on things that seem harmless on the surface.

“You can keep staring at that lamp, but it’s not going to turn into a snake,” Zatanna says, shuffling through her cupboard for something. 

“Your dad used to do that.”

“He gave us bunnies, not snakes. One time it was a porcupine, I think? We didn’t have the heart to turn it back so we let you take it home and keep it as a pet.”

Bruce feels himself smile. “Reggie. Lived quite a long life.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Zatanna says as she pulls out a mirror from her wardrobe. “Aha! The Mirror of Souls.”

She holds it up in front of her and says a command, _“Laever flesruoy.”_

Bruce watches as she gazes intensely into the mirror. Her brows are closely knit together and the wrinkles on the forehead squeeze even tighter when she’s concentrating. He knows not to get in her way, but her face then relaxes and it seems to be over as quickly as it started.

She passes the mirror into his hand. “Look into it and tell me what you see.” 

At first, Bruce just sees a normal reflection of himself. But slowly, the glass fogs up and a darkness spreads throughout the surface, like clouds building inside the reflective device. He sees two eyes flashing back at him—eyes within a black cowl in a head that turns whenever he turns his and blinks whenever he does too. 

“Bruce?”

“I—I see him, Zatanna. The Bat.”

She seems to understand then. “May I see?”

Bruce nods.

 _“Rorrim ezeerf.”_  

She takes it back and stares at it for a second. “So this is him. Hero of Gotham. I always knew you were going to do big things in this city, Bruce. I just would’ve never guessed that this would be it.”

“If you’re still seeing him in the reflection, it means that we’re in the right timeline at least. His essence is still tethered to you but it’s as if the string has come loose. That’s why nobody in the city can remember him. Even staring at him—at you—right in the face, it’s not jogging any of my memories right now.”

“That’s okay, Zee. How do I fix it?”

She unfreezes the mirror and tucks it back in her drawer. A white and blue corset floats out of the cupboard along with a matching long blue coat. Bruce tries not to look as she changes right in front of him and distracts himself by opening one of the books on Witchcraft for Children. Zatanna hasn’t mentioned anything about expecting anytime soon and Bruce thinks it best not to pry. 

“Well, it seems that we’re going to need to pay a visit to the last magic-user you came in contact with. I’ll just change out of these fishnets and then we can get going right away.”

When she’s fully dressed, she leads them both out of the house and stands on the front steps of the porch. It’s getting close to midnight and there seems to be a storm brewing above their heads. Bruce tilts his head upwards and feels a drop of water landing in his eye. He feels Zatanna’s hand wiping it off his cheek.

“So you say you’ve been to Hell, right? That’s where you last saw him?”

“Yes, although he dropped me off somewhere in London. I had to buy my own flight back. That’s when I noticed that something was wrong—when Alfred wasn’t returning any of my calls. I looked into it as soon as I returned. He’s retired now. The mansion has been vacated.”

“If only we’d kept in touch all these years, you could’ve called me for help the second, Bruce, instead of that snake.”

“Constantine? You two were close?”

She ignores the line of questioning and continues. “When you were a superhero, did you ever fly?”

“I dived from the tops of buildings every now and then.”

“Not afraid of a little height, then.”

“Not afraid of much.”

Zatanna smiles at him as she dusts some form of purple powder around them in a circle, being careful to stay within the boundaries. She takes a step forward until the two of them are face to face, with barely enough room for a hand to slip in between their chests. She smells like—incense, the warm and comforting kind, like peonies, or lilies, even a touch of dark cinnamon spice in there. He snaps out of it and looks straight at her, who has a glint in her eyes. 

“Just trying to calm you down, Brucie.” 

“Don’t do that again, Zatanna. I mean it," voice a little harsher than intended.

She lowers her gaze and sighs. “Fine. Just—try not to pass out on me.”

_“Ekat su ot nodnoL.”_

There’s a loud crack in the sky and a flash of bright purple and white light, and it feels as if he’s fallen down a hole all of a sudden even when he feels his feet being lifted off the ground. It’s the last sensation he feels before his body gets tossed into another plane, twisting and moving through space and time in what’s undoubtedly some form of teleportation leap. He feels himself on the verge of being torn apart but feels the clasp of Zatanna’s hand securely bound to his.

He’s in the eye of the hurricane once more, except this time, he’s not alone.

 


End file.
